


Novellas and Fishbowls

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Steve Rogers, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes is a closeted nerd, De-Serumed Steve Rogers, Don’t copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gay Bucky Barnes, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Recovery, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Wears Glasses, and Bucky knows it, and looks really cute, they just need to communicate dammit, they’ve both got their problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23147758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Steve has lost the serum, and it’s... hard. Bucky’s doing his best to help, but with his terrible habit of bottling it up and hoping for the best when his own emotions come into play, Bucky’s problems are being overlooked.But, a little opening up goes a long way. Assurance from both sides, Steve’s artistic skills, and a whole lot of love from everyone, they’ll work it out. Baby steps.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 3
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

Bucky’s always enjoyed reading. When they were younger, it had definitely been Steve who was more _obviously_ nerdy when it came to that particular hobby, cramming several heavy volumes into his kit bag when he finally enlisted. But Bucky, while maybe a little slower at getting through a book, has never lost it. That love of becoming lost in a world of his own choice, living lives through others, hundreds of alternative realities all piled onto a single shelf.

Recently he’s been working his way through _The Great Gatsby_. There are so many other books that he could be discovering, he _knows_ that— but this is so familiar. He doesn’t really remember reading it for the first time, back in his early twenties, but there’s a… _feeling_ that the novel gives him. Maybe it’s an almost-memory (or maybe he just identifies way too much with Gatsby’s obsession with the past), he just really likes it. Even if it is depressing as hell.

So, (taking a leaf out of Steve’s book, he realises) Bucky’s been carrying Gatsby around with him in his bag. He doesn’t read it as he walks, he’s not _that_ much of a nerd (he’s really not), but when he’s waiting for the subway, or he finds himself in a quiet coffee shop, there it is. Or, like now, when he’s waiting for Steve to come out of his medical appointment. One of many.

“Steve.” Bucky closes the book on his thumb and waves. “Steve, over here.” It’s been so long since he’s had to do this, and it brings a confusing mix of feelings. Nostalgia— but also a little sadness for his friend’s sake. Not that he’d ever let Steve know. Pity is the last thing he needs, or wants. But he can’t help but think of all those muscles, improved health and perfect eyesight, almost gifted like a miracle— and they’re right back where they started.

Steve’s squinting heavily, as if scrunching his eyes up will somehow force them into working better, but he does catch Bucky’s movements. He walks over, expression stiff.

“Right, sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

They stand there for a few moments, Steve staring at the ground, in embarrassment probably. Bucky letting him ride it out. Then Steve lets out a frustrated puff of air, and laughs humourlessly.

“God, I’d forgotten what it’s like. Well, not really, but it’s come on so fast. Must be some kind of record breaker. The fastest deterioration of eyesight in history.” He scuffs at a little patch of dirt with his shoe. “Like walkin’ in a grubby fishbowl.”

Bucky smiles a little as another memory comes floating in. His voice is quiet, gentle, when he looks down at Steve and says, “good thing I took care of that.”

“What?”

He can tell Steve recognises the words. Bucky reaches into his bag, and swaps his book for a small black case.

“Banner said these were ready. So I brought them over.” He hands it to Steve, who pops it open, and smirks at the contents.

“Stylish.”

Bucky knows Steve doesn’t like having to wear the glasses, maybe even hates it. And probably out of principle more than anything else. But when he slides the round tortoiseshell frames up his nose, it’s kind of crazy how much they actually compliment Steve’s features.

“You look good.”

Steve snorts in response. “Well, I can see, and that’s the main thing.” His expression grows a little softer though, as he glances up at Bucky for a moment. “Thank you, Buck.”

“How do you feel?”

“Honestly?” And _finally_ , there’s that beautiful, tooth-filled, slightly-to-the-side smile that just warms Bucky to the core. “I feel like a pincushion.”

Bucky laughs, but only at Steve’s joke. “That’s rough. It’s good though, right? All these vaccines, and... stuff. They’re going to work?”

“That’s the plan,” says Steve, raising his eyebrows. He shakes his head a little, going on. “I guess I got so used to having it easy. I’ll be okay, it’s just… kind of a crash back to reality.”

“Just like the good old days.”

“Yeah. What about you?”

Steve’s question takes Bucky aback. He knows it shouldn’t, it’s _Steve_ for Christ’s sake. But the truth is it’s been such a long time since somebody asked anything as simple as ‘how’s your day been?’ and he can’t help but let out a surprised, “me?”

What doesn’t surprise him is Steve’s response to this reaction, which is to frown with legitimate concern and doesn’t _that_ just make him feel like a disaster. “Yeah,” says Steve. “Are you okay?”

Bucky pauses. There’s a lot of _feelings_ n’ shit inside him (loath as he is to admit it), but actually putting it into words is more of a challenge. And what could Steve really say to any of it? It wouldn’t be fair to put that on him. _My brainwashing’s fixed but somehow I feel more out of control than ever. I’ve been crying myself to sleep every other night, and half the time I forget why_. What could anyone be expected to say to something like that? _Go see a therapist_ , most likely.

“Well, I’ve been thinking clearly for the first time in about seventy years, haven’t been sent to murder anyone in the past… what? Half hour?” Bucky nudges Steve with his shoulder. “I’m taller’n you again.” And he paints a smile on his face, jaunty and straight out of the 40s. “Yeah. Things are good.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Three days later._

  
Everything is soft. The brush of the sheets delicately covering their limbs, the warm light creeping across the walls, slowly climbing up their bodies as the minutes pass. Quiet breaths.

It’s the calm he needs after the storm that is so often his mind at night.

Bucky buries his face into Steve’s mess of hair, which is gradually giving the impression of literally becoming one with the sunshine as the morning progresses. That already beautiful shade is basically glowing right now, little sparkles glinting on individual strands. It’s kind of ridiculous.

“I always loved being able to do this,” he murmurs.

A puff of warm air brushes Bucky’s forearm as Steve scoffs. “What, suffocating me?”

“Asshole.” Bucky gives a little extra-tight squeeze with his arm until Steve laughs and swats vaguely at Bucky’s face.

“I missed it too.”

“See?” Bucky plants a kiss in the crook of Steve’s neck. It’s so much smaller, but just as warm. “Little spoon privileges. That’s not so bad, right?”

“I guess not.”

A gentle breeze flutters through the room, tickling at the edges of loose papers lying on the floor and table. All Steve’s work, little sketches scattered through the apartment. Mostly rough portraits or figures from his immaculate memory; they’re all gorgeous in Bucky’s opinion, whatever Steve says.

Bucky remembers how, back in their 20s, he would sit for hours while Steve lovingly rendered every inch of his body on paper. Always in pencil, there was no question of affording anything more fancy than graphite, but god, were they something.

He doesn’t mean to say it. They’re so peaceful and happy and he doesn’t want to spoil that but it spills from his lips anyway—

“Do you wish I could go back to how I was before?”

Steve stills. Bucky’s heart thumps. He knows Steve can feel it against his back. “Bucky.”

“I just. I was looking at all those old drawings you did, and... then I was in the shower. Guess I don’t look my best, huh— with the scars, and arm n’ shit.” He pauses. “And I’m kinda crazy these days.” A piss poor attempt at humour, and unsurprisingly it doesn’t seem to have Steve fooled.

“Bucky.” Steve twists out of Bucky’s embrace until he’s on all fours, looking down at him. “Look at me.” Steve nudges at Bucky’s chin and he forces himself to glance up. And what a familiar expression that is. There’s that little dent of determination between Steve’s eyes, which are glaring at him. “I wish you’d never gone through all the shit that you did. I wish you could’a seen Becca grow up, lived your life without a single minute of pain.” Steve’s eyelids flutter shut, and he leans his head down to rest on Bucky’s chest. “But pal, I loved you then and I love you just the same now. And there ain’t nothing that’s gonna put a stop to that.”

Bucky lets his eyes fall shut again, and tries to relax back into the pillows. _Jesus, Rogers. What a sap._

“You sound, uh, pretty sure about that.”

“I do, don’t I?”

As Steve lifts his head, Bucky meets his eyes and murmurs, “no matter what?”

“You bet.”

“What if I go bald?”

“I’d buy you a hat to keep you warm.”

 _I love him._ Bucky smiles. He can’t help it. He can feel it at the corners of his eyes, and his lips part as he reaches up to card his fingers through Steve’s bed head.

“What if I shave my eyebrows off?”

“Then you’d look fucking stupid, Buck.”

A laugh escapes him, and he pulls Steve gently down into a kiss. It’s tender and deep and soft. It smells of sleep and graphite dust and home.

His heart’s still beating. It keeps going. He feels Steve’s, too. Steady. Strong.

It gives him a little courage, so he lets out a whisper against Steve’s lips—

“Can you draw me?”

“You sure?”

“Like you see me. Please?”

“Yeah, Buck. As you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> If it takes your fancy, you can pop over to my tumblr and see skinny Steve in all his oil painted glory:
> 
> [Here!](https://moodbotany.tumblr.com/post/616303819961368576/skinny-steve)


End file.
